


Lilac

by gutterandthestars



Series: Twelvetide 2020/2021 [9]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Book: Night Watch (Discworld), Books Are Emotional, Good Writing Breaks Our Hearts And Joe Feels That, M/M, Twelvetide 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterandthestars/pseuds/gutterandthestars
Summary: Written for the Twelvetide Drabbles challenge 2020/2021, for the prompt 'Lilac' on 1st January 2021.***It is 2002, and Joe is reading a new book.***
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Twelvetide 2020/2021 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095605
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43
Collections: Twelvetide Drabbles 2020





	Lilac

Joe reads Terry Pratchett’s ‘Night Watch’ the week it’s published and cries seven times.

The fifth time, Nicky, who’s on the other side of the room reading the latest Jasper Fforde, hears the smallest of muffled sobs and looks up. Joe is squeezed tightly into an armchair, one hand clasped over his mouth, eyes bright with tears. The book is crushed between his chest and his folded knees.

Nicky sighs fondly and puts the kettle on.

By the time the tea is ready, and Nicky has brought over two steaming mugs, Joe has put the book down and is looking up at Nicky with the glowing expression he usually reserves for passionate declarations of love and times when he’s moved by really good art. Nicky supposes this book must qualify. Nicky is impressed. It’s not totally unusual for Joe to be brought to tears by literature, but these days it requires more than simple skill with words. Something has got under his skin.

Nicky passes Joe the tea and pokes him in the ribs until he tells Nicky the story so far. 

“Hmm,” he says, once Joe has explained in detail, complete with historical references. Nicky is perched on the arm of the chair, one arm around Joe, his thumb brushing idly over the shoulder seam of Joe’s shirt.

“It’s beautiful, yes?” says Joe, clutching Nicky’s free hand.

“You know, I think the lilac blooms are all over by 25th May,” Nicky argues.

Joe looks at Nicky like he’s committed some kind of blasphemous violation – _really, Nicolò, that’s what you take from this?_ – and launches into a passionate tirade on the nature of pathos, and the juxtaposition of the nobility of the human spirit alongside the depravity of likewise.

Nicky waits him out, feeling the corner of his mouth curl up. He’s so, so in love with this man.

“He understands!” says Joe, of the author, gesturing wildly. “He gets what a fucking waste it is, and how important it is to remember that! To remember history _rightly!_ ”

Nicky, dogged by the shadows of their own history, will allow that he can relate.

“We weren’t there, in England, for Peterloo?” asks Nicky, scrunching his nose, and it’s not a question, not really, more a verbal cue to prompt his own memories, but Joe answers all the same.

“No, my heart, we were still trying to find Booker, don’t you recall? That brutal and futile exercise that was Russia, then we followed the trail of his mendacity back to France, all while that stubborn bastard fought anyone and everyone, including us, then refused to leave for another ten or twenty years… No, we were not in England till much later.”

“Ah. Yes,” agrees Nicky. “It was a busy time.” He withdraws his arm from Joe’s shoulder. “Are you recovered? Or would you like a distraction?” He kisses Joe’s ear, then sticks his tongue right in there for good measure. Joe yelps and pushes him off the arm of the chair and onto the floor. Nicky laughs at him and gets to his feet.

“I would like to finish this story,” says Joe, feigning dignity but looking miffed.

“In that case,” Nicky tells him, “I shall bring you a handkerchief. I shall be in the kitchen chopping onions, if you need an excuse.”

“Fuck you, Nicolò. I’m not ashamed of this.” He waves the book at Nicky. “History! Memory! Leadership!”

Nicky waves him off and goes to cook their supper.

For a few years after, Joe sniffs audibly and looks emotional whenever they pass a lilac blooming, in May or otherwise. Nicky will pat his shoulder, murmur sympathies, and hold his hand.


End file.
